


Beyond Roses

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Culture, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-02
Updated: 2009-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter raises some ghosts from John's past. (Suggests past/present child abuse and past miscarriage)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond Roses

[Click for Story Art at beet's journal](http://community.livejournal.com/beetarty/26951.html)

  


&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;

_...He gets red roses in different places,_

_the head, that time he was as sleepy as a river,_

_the back, that time he was a broken scarecrow,_

_the arm like a diamond had bitten it,_

_the leg, twisted like a licorice stick...._

  
'A Red Roses' by Anne Sexton

  


**Beyond Roses**

&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;

"I regret that you will not be joining us today, Rodney. The Minosian market has always been a favorite of mine." Teyla shakes her head sympathetically as Rodney displays white-bandaged palms as an excuse. She glances over her shoulder, honey-gold laughter dancing in her voice as she leans forward and confesses in an easily overheard whisper, "Although, I am certain it will never match the many wonders of Neiman-Marcus."

A leaning frame for Teyla, shoulder propping up a perfectly sturdy wall of Rodney's lab, John only grins a little sheepishly at the reminder of the fantasy he'd guided her through in the mists of M5S-224, amusement deepening the corner lines of chameleon eyes dark as the clothing he wears.

"Yes, well, I remember how much you bought the last time we went there, and I'd be useless as a pack mule with all the muscles I strained yesterday, not to mention how much time I'm losing here because I can't type...." Rodney's complaints taper off with a grimace of pain after a too-vigorous wave. His eyes flicker across the swelling of life beneath hues of mourning, the customary splashes of color as absent as her people. A knife-point of guilt prods him, his tongue stumbling while attempting to avoid the landmines of grief, "Unless you think you might need me to ask about...."

With a shadowed smile, Teyla declines the offer, gracious as always. "I do not believe it necessary, although I must confess that I shall miss hearing your _unique_ observations on the variety of items that may be purchased there." Her gentle teasing refuses to allow worry to taint her anticipated pleasure. "In your absence, however, I will be certain to purchase some of those rolled pastries you enjoyed so much last time, those we found at Nolla's booth."

An abrupt attempt to snap swollen fingers produces a wince, but fails to abort Rodney's exclamation. "Oh! Ow! Yes, yes, and if you do, make sure you bring back enough to share with Radek. He claims they're almost like the kolackys his mother made when he was growing up."

A dreadlock-shaggy head pokes around the doorway, bright grin mocking. "You share food, McKay? Since when?"

Ronon's amused growl appears to be the signal for the three uninjured teammates to exit the lab, all of them chuckling at Rodney's sputtered protest. "What's that supposed to mean? I share!"

&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;

Gingerly holding his tray by the tips of his fingers, Rodney maneuvers across the crowded mess to join the rest of his team at their favored spot by the windows. With a frown, he drops it to the table, claiming the remaining seat as he grumbles, "Thanks for the invitation...and the help."

Teyla ducks her head, her mouth twisted in mild chagrin. "My apologies, Rodney." She turns her head in John's direction, one eyebrow rising as she explains, "John informed us that you did not wish to be disturbed."

John doesn't look up from his meal, and Rodney is left wondering whether the color in his semi-averted face is from embarrassment at being caught in a lie, or a reflection of the russet sunset painting the sky. Deciding to take the high road for once, Rodney smiles at Teyla and releases John from the hook. "Oh, my mistake. I must not have been paying enough attention to what he was saying when he called."

Ronon's eyes flick between Teyla and Rodney's faces, then he shrugs and continues eating without offering an opinion. Rodney watches the tension ease from John's shoulders and feels his own relax in turn. With an almost inaudible sigh of relief, Rodney awkwardly grasps his spoon and begins scooping up his stew. Two bites into his meal, he complains, "This is the third night in a row for this slop. You'd think they could be a little more creative."

"I believe this should help ease the monotony." Teyla slides a cloth-wrapped bundle across the table, and Rodney's eyes light up. He drops his spoon with a clatter, flips open a corner of the package, and smiles.

"You remembered!" He immediately grabs one of the pastries and pops it into his mouth with a moan of ecstasy. "Ummmm. Perfection." When Ronon reaches across the table to snatch one for himself, Rodney gathers the bundle to his chest with a scowl. "Hey!"

Ronon shakes his head in amusement. "I thought you said you shared?" When Rodney fails to release his hostages, Ronon leans forward grinning and rumbles, "You should probably be careful walking back to your room later. You never know what might be waiting for you around a dark corner."

"Oh I like that!" Rodney protests. "Threatening me with a beating over a cookie. I hate to see what you'd do for...."

A harsh scrape and clatter interrupts the familiar banter, an overturned chair evidence of John's agitation as he stalks from the room, a sudden hush through the room warning that his abrupt exit hadn't gone unnoticed by the other diners. Startled, Rodney crushes his prize followed by a cry of dismay, while only Teyla's quick clasp of Ronon's wrist prevents him from following the team's leader.

Tossing the crumb-filled cloth down in front of Ronon, Rodney blurts out, "Okay, is one of you going to tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Teyla's mouth thins and she shakes her head before offering an explanation. "I fear it may have to do with something he saw today, while we were at the market."

When Rodney looks toward Ronon for confirmation, he nods and rumbles, "Wasn't there when it started."

"Well, what happened?"

"A child...just outside one of the merchants' tents." Teyla places a hand at the top of her abdomen and rubs absently as she frowns at the memory. "It appeared as if he had been injured. There were bruises on his face and he was limping a little."

Rodney is puzzled at the recounting and points out, "A kid. Hunh. I guess I can understand that, but we've seen...you know...after...um...cullings...and he's never acted like this before. He...uh...usually just goes quiet."

"I agree, it is never easy seeing a young one in pain, but I believe it may have been something more this time, as far as John is concerned. As we were watching, an adult - likely the child's parent - emerged from the tent, grabbed the boy by the arm, and then shook him. That was when John became quite angry."

Ronon stops eating long enough to nod in agreement. "Teyla couldn't stop him, so I had to."

"Stop him?'

"He indicated that he was going to interfere." The distress is evident on Teyla's face, and Rodney regrets the need for her to relive the moment. "I could not allow that to happen. We had no way of knowing the circumstances behind the child's visible injuries, and causing an incident in the market could have cost us a great deal of the goodwill we have worked for."

Suspicion thuds behind Rodney's breastbone, and he suddenly finds it difficult to breathe. "Oh. Uh...then...I guess I understand why he...left...just now. What I said...."

"He's being stupid," Ronon growls, shoving his tray away impatiently. "Don't learn to listen and obey when you're young, then you're easier to cull."

"Ronon." Teyla frowns at him before turning back to Rodney. "How a child is disciplined often differs between peoples. Perhaps this was an example of one of those differences, and he simply needs some time to adjust and accept."

Unable to dismiss the concern in Teyla's face, Rodney looks past her as he considers what he's learned, fears there is no easy answer. The sun has slipped below the horizon, and he watches the last traces of crimson fade away before he reluctantly agrees, "Maybe. I hope you're right about that."

&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;

Rodney glances at the silent man sitting next to him in the jumper and barely manages not to sigh when he thinks about his promise to Teyla. He's aware that he only has a short reprieve, and that she'll be expecting results when she returns from her interview with the IOA, but talking about feelings and John have never gone together well in the past. Still, even as inept at personal interactions as he is, Rodney knows she's right and allowing John to withdraw even further will only turn out badly for everyone concerned.

With a shrug, Rodney sets his concerns aside and returns to the task at hand. Scanning across the HUD, he points to a flashing indicator. "The cairn with the sensors is coming up." A curt nod is the only acknowledgement he receives, and a surge of resentment catches Rodney by surprise. "I'm not reading any life signs, so we should be able to land close to it." John does so without a word, and the jumper settles down lightly in a sea of grass and flowers.

"Uh...I'll just go out and retrieve the recordings...um...check the settings...." Rodney scrambles out of the co-pilot's chair and starts for the rear of the jumper before pulling up short, anger rising once again at John's behavior. "If this was going to be such a imposition, you could have assigned someone else to come with me. It's not like we found anything dangerous the last time we were here. After all, that's why we're monitoring it for a potential beta site."

John's voice rasps, as if it had rusted from disuse. "You know I don't let other people fly you around."

"Do I?" Rodney doesn't bother to rein in his sarcasm. "After a solid week of being treated as if I'm either invisible or carrying the plague, I'm not certain I know anything when it comes to you." Straightening his shoulders, he stomps away, smacking the release button for the rear hatch as he passes by the inner bulkhead.

He doesn't make it more than a few steps before he's grabbed and slammed up against the jumper wall, his laptop clattering to the floor. John presses flush against him, hands flat against the metal on either side of Rodney's head, face only a few inches away, breathing hard. "Hunh. A whole week. Feeling neglected?" John grunts as his hips grind forward, their tac vests preventing any real connection between them. "This what you're looking for?"

"The fuck, John!" Rodney shoves John back, furious. "I'm not letting you pull this shit so you can avoid telling me why you're acting like a complete asshole! Just tell me what's gone wrong in that fucked-up head of yours!"

"Nothing! Why won't you all just leave me the fuck alone!" John's fist slams into the wall only a few inches from Rodney's head and he's unable to prevent an instinctive flinch. John's eyes widen and he shudders when he looks between Rodney's face and his hand. He stumbles back with a choked sound, then wheels and stumbles out of the jumper, breaking into a run when he touches the hard-packed earth.

Rodney reaches out too late, then follows John outside, but only stands and watches in frustration as the other man speeds across the meadow, the tall grass doing little to slacken his headlong pace. After a few minutes, he goes back inside to retrieve his laptop. He carries it outside and sets it down to uncover the sensor array under the cairn. Once it is exposed, he plugs the laptop into it and downloads the data gathered, then retreats to the shade of the jumper to assess it. He glances outside occasionally, knows there's no threat to either John or himself on the unpopulated planet, but still feels slightly uncomfortable with being left alone.

The thud of boots on the jumper floor forces him out of his scientific fugue, and he looks up to see John drinking thirstily, sweat darkening the shirt under his unzipped vest, gleaming along his face and neck. He finishes the bottle and pulls another from the cooler, then leaves the jumper without a word.

Rodney watches him walk away and wonders if he imagined the fleeting look of regret.

Concentration broken, Rodney allows John a little longer to wallow in his solitude, then tucks the laptop away with a sigh. Grabbing a water bottle of his own, he emerges from the jumper and searches for John in a world where the colors are half a shade off, filtered through terrestrial eyes. He's not far away, easy to spot, a lanky shadow against the green, relaxing between several clumps of the red-veined blossoms that remind Rodney of poppies. He's discarded his vest and is lying back with his hands beneath his head, one knee cocked in a classic pose, a broken-stemmed flower casting a bruised shadow across one cheek. He doesn't stir as Rodney approaches, and he wonders if John's dozing behind the armor of his sunglasses.

The unspoken question is answered when John grunts wordlessly and thumps the ground next to him with a flattened hand. Thankful for the slight breeze that offsets the warmth of the sun, Rodney unzips his vest and drops it atop John's, but not before extracting a small tube. He tosses it on John's chest with a put-upon sigh. "Put that on, Melanoma Man." John's mouth twists in a brief pout, but he opens the sunscreen and smooths it on his nose and cheeks before tossing the tube back.

"I'm probably allergic to this stuff, " Rodney grumbles as he lowers himself to the ground, but it doesn't stop him from flattening the grass and then flopping backward with a slight groan. After squirming and repositioning himself several times, he finally comes to rest, only to mutter a few moments later, "The sun's too bright." A light tap against his chest startles him, but any complaint is forestalled at the sight of John's offering. Accepting the silent apology, as well as the sunglasses, Rodney settles them on his face with a pleased hum and murmurs, "Thanks."

Reluctant to disturb the fragile peace, Rodney refrains from speaking, hopes that John will find his way back from wherever he's gone before Rodney's forced to say something in order to fulfill his promise to Teyla. He suspects that if she weren't there pushing in the back of his mind, he would let it all slide to avoid further confrontation.

Hand shading his eyes in lieu of his sunglasses, John points up at a passing cloud. "That one looks like an elephant."

"Five legs and a trunk?" Rodney rolls his eyes in derision behind dark lenses. "Must be a Pegasus-style pachyderm."

"It's not a leg, Rodney," John snorts in laughter.

Rodney squints upward, as if it might change what he's seeing. "Not a...oh! Um...I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Let's just say it was a memorable trip to the zoo." John turns his head to grin at Rodney.

Torn between horror and twelve-year-old glee, Rodney announces, "I think I'm going to need a few beers before I'm ready for a stroll through the minefield of your heretofore unrevealed psycho-sexual landscape."

"Nah, it's pretty vanilla for the most part. You're still safe."

Rodney slides his arm across the faintly scratchy grass to nudge John's hand with the back of his wrist. When John doesn't pull away, Rodney leaves it there, the thinnest connection, grounding him when the too-wide sky threatens to float him away.

The grass rustles as John shifts restlessly, then he begins to speak, low and tentative. "Listen, I'm sorry...about...."

Rodney can't bear to hear the self-loathing thrumming below John's words, and he rushes to banish it. "That whole thing in the jumper? You know I was never really scared of you. You'd never _deliberately_ hurt someone you care about, John. _Never_." Rodney turns his hand and rings John's wrist with forefinger and thumb, feeling his pulse leap then calm again. "However, shutting us all out...shutting _me_ out...when you obviously have something bothering you is another story. You _should_ be sorry about that."

John is silent for so long that Rodney wonders whether he's fallen asleep. When he does start talking, he's so quiet that Rodney almost misses it. "I...I never wanted kids. Nancy did."

Rodney may find it difficult to talk about feelings, but that doesn't mean he can't connect the dots between what happened at the market and what John's revealing. "Is that the reason you and she...?"

John confirms Rodney's assumption with a huff that almost sounds relieved. "Yeah. One of them. You know there's something...broken...when you feel worse about getting the call saying 'I'm pregnant' than the one two months later saying 'I lost the baby.' God, I was such an asshole. I didn't deserve her."

"She never knew the reason why you didn't...uh...."

"No. I...I've never told. Anyone. The base shrinks would have had a field day, and I had enough on my plate." John's voice sounds as rueful as his expression looks when Rodney turns his head to check.

Rodney waits for a few minutes, wondering if John is going to say anything more. When he doesn't, Rodney takes a deep breath and dives in. "You know...uh...Teyla's going to be a great mom and her kid's going to be just as happy as my niece is. I...if you'd asked me how I felt about Jeannie being a mom five years ago, I'd have said nothing good about it, but I'd have been wrong. Really wrong. She and Kaleb are nothing like my...they're great with Madison. She's a lucky kid."

John stiffens beside Rodney for a moment before he blurts out, "Of course, she's going to be...I mean Teyla's the.... Fuck, it's...I...I usually handle this stuff better." He scrubs his face, frustration straining his voice. "I know it's not the same for everyone. I just...I saw him...and I lost it. Teyla and Ronon were right to stop me. We didn't know the story behind it...and some kids really do end up in the emergency room because they fell."

Rodney's grasp tightens around John's wrist at that, and it's an effort for him to loosen it. He finally does, though, and they lie there, linked in silent harmony until Rodney's nose starts to itch. The skin tingles when he scratches it and he grumbles, "I'm getting burnt here."

With a chuckle, John rolls onto his side and props himself up with an elbow, leaning over Rodney so his shadow falls over his face. "I can't take you anywhere, can I?" he teases. Gently, John tugs the sunglasses free and drops them into the grass above Rodney's head, and then returns to studying Rodney's face with a faint smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Rodney's uncharacteristically quiet, waiting, then his eyes widen, his nose twitches, and he sneezes convulsively, curling up and knocking his forehead against John's chin. Despite the explosion, John doesn't pull back completely, instead laughing as Rodney thuds back down into the grass, free hand scrubbing across his itching face as he huffs in irritation. "Ow, dabbit!"

"Way to ruin the moment, McKay." John twists to pull a packet of tissues out of a side pocket of his pants, handing them over with a smirk. "Here."

"Happen to bring the antihistamines, too?"

"In my vest." He starts to roll to his feet in order to retrieve the pills. "Come on, let's get you dosed up before it gets any worse."

Rodney quickly blows his nose and drops the tissue on the ground before grabbing John's shirt and hauling him back down. "Get back here. I can tolerate a stuffy nose for a few more minutes."

And proves it.

&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;*&lt;&gt;

_...The foolish fears of what might happen._

_I cast them all away_

_Among the clover-scented grass,_

_Among the new-mown hay,_

_Among the husking of the corn,_

_Where drowsy poppies nod_

_Where ill thoughts die and good are born..._

  
'Out in the Fields of God' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for artword Challenge - 016: Colors. I owe a great deal to my collaborator beet, who selected the theme from a group of possibilities I tossed in her general direction and then helped me nail down a plot in IM.


End file.
